


If it feels good

by Callico



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, No Spoilers, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sexual Frustration, not a pregnancy fic I promise, sex pollen/drug, this just got away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callico/pseuds/Callico
Summary: Post-examination symptoms include arousal and elevated fertility, not a great combo. And in that context, there is only one person on his mind.(Updated: 4/24/2017)





	

 

"Why should you stop it **if it feels good**?" - What's Wrong with People (part 1), Whitey

* * *

  

There are examinations being performed on all members of the new settlement. Part of it is a fertility test involving a drug that stays in the system for a few hours (5-10 they say). Prevailing symptoms are arousal and elevated fertility.

\--

Bellamy is examined first. After, he stumbles back to his quarters in a haze and locks the door behind him. He has his own room at this point and is grateful for it, tonight especially. He feels his body pulsing with energy, tired and electrified at the same time.

The idea of fertility keeps him far from any of his usual girls. He’s not about to ruin everyone’s lives in _that_ particular way. No, he’ll take care of it himself.

The first time is efficient, but it doesn’t fix a damn thing. Every time he finishes, he’s back up within minutes. It is enough to almost have him asking for help from…He doesn’t have anyone particular in mind, just any nice mouth.

But the idea of fertility keeps coming back, and, God help him, these thoughts are not helping the matter. In fact, it makes his blood pump faster.

And in that context, there’s only one person on his mind. As fucked up as it is, there is no one else in the world he would want to have a kid with (not that he wants that in any way at all right not…it’s just that the idea of it seems incredibly hot to his drugged up mind.)

He knows what he wants. He knows _who_ he wants, but after all this time he’s not just going to barge through her door for a drug-induced fuck. That doesn’t mean he can’t think about her though. In fact, he’s not sure that he _could_ not think about her at this point.

He knows the warnings, knows that the likelihood of insemination is elevated by the examination. So he fights through the physical pain of not going to her. His feet take him all the way to the door before he can snap out of it, but thoughts of her—her neck, her tits, her goddamn mouth that always says something to say against him—are clouding everything else.

The idea of having her under him (or over him, he doesn't give two shits as long as he would be able to see every inch of her when she comes) is intoxicating. Or maybe he is just already intoxicated. Maybe it's both and she would create a lethal concoction. He wouldn't mind overdosing on her mouth, or other parts.

(If he’s honest, the idea of having Clarke right now and spilling inside her is more desirable than he cares to consider. When the thought of taking her like that, unprotected and raw, pushes to the forefront of his mind, he falls over the brink harder than before, hard enough to find sleep.)

\-- 

Days later it is Clarke’s turn. She finds herself trekking the same path he did, though she hardly knows the way. They haven’t visited each other’s quarters much, not having the late-night projects of the past to keep them up. Yet her fingers are tingling (as are other parts), her heart is racing, and she can’t think of anything or anyone she wants more than _him_. It’s been so long since she has thought that, since she has let herself _feel_ it…for him at least.

She knocks on his door and all is a blur from there.

\--

He knew the schedule, knew she was up that morning. He expected they would cluster the leaders into a similar time frame and get it over with. Bellamy was not, however, expecting Clarke to come to him. The surprise almost has him on her.

\-- 

The images he conjured up just a few nights before are still embarrassingly clear in his mind and the pleading in her eyes distracts him. So does her mouth, but that is nothing new.

She asks urgently that he just help her, and Bellamy is no good at denying anyone help—least of all this woman. The memory of his own drug-induced distress is fresh enough in his veins and he doesn’t want her in that kind of pain. She is standing in the same doorway now that he leaned on in that time of weakness, palms against the door, panting, head hanging, feeling so very _weak_.

Her wild eyes are all over him, and soon her hands are too, and he has wanted this so badly. But not like this. Ever since he stopped lying to himself, it is easy to admit that his body has a reaction to this woman that he can't ignore or get from anyone else. He wants her fully, properly; he wants her when she wants him without the drugs.

He tells her this much.

“Okay Bellamy, whatever you want. Just, please, _help me_.”

These are words he cannot resist.

He lays down the law, singular and simple: he will not kiss her.

Bellamy has every intention of relieving the symptoms of the drugs for her, a favor, but he is not getting intimate. He doesn’t think he can afford it.

He avoids her lips (because the thought of them has haunted him for long enough without any actual knowledge of their taste) but ravishes everything else. Bellamy is quickly consumed by the noises Clarke makes and the way her arms immediately try to encircle his shoulders as she collapses into his frame.

There’s no chance of pregnancy, none at all. His pants are never removed, though batting her hands away from them was not easy. He tries not to learn anything about her body—it isn’t useful knowledge—but he still wakes up with a catalogue: his hands trace up her thighs and she shivers, her nipples become impossibly hard at the slightest touch, and she really likes to say his name. He does settle between her legs for a moment without meaning to as be spends time on her neck; she takes advantage and whispers something wonderful into his ear and his hips buck directly into her. The noise that leaves her mouth is more scream than anything and he has to force himself away from the position.

What is absolutely infuriating is how _lucid_ she is the entire time. The typical symptoms of intoxication are not there; when she speaks (“Inside me, _please_ ”) it is not slurred; her movements are direct and effective, too effective considering this _isn’t about him dammit_ ; her eyes are clear and he finds himself avoiding them almost as thoroughly as her lips, lest he allow himself to forget that these desires are not really hers.

With all the things he is trying to avoid, he is able to focus that much more on what matters. His tongue circles her pulse and she arches. His tongue brings her to the edge quickly and she falls over it, his name a gasp on the lips he won’t touch.

But like Bellamy's situation, once isn’t enough for Clarke; he gets her there a total of five times from four positions. On the final he uses his mouth in a new way. Bellamy whispers the worst things imaginable into her ear and she moans in response to each. ("I'd like your cunt however you'd give it to me, Clarke—wet, dry, bloody, I don't fucking care. You could suffocate me with yourself. Even if you were pregnant I would still fuck you, you're so goddamm gorgeous. _Jesus_ do you even know? I can't think of anyone else but you when I get myself off; I can't fuck any one with blonde hair without screaming _your_ name, Clarke.)

She only came a few moments ago but she is already begging him for more, hands pulling at his shoulders, head thrown back, hips lifting lightly towards him just once. It is less desperate now after four orgasms but full of just as much need.

He hopes she is too far gone at this point for his words to have any repercussions and he lets it flow out naturally. He tells her how hard he is, that he wants to be inside her; he tells her that the thought of spilling his seed deep inside her brought him to orgasm two nights ago and she begs him to do it.

He’s not sure when he started humping the mattress himself but he wants to be inside her so badly; he has to do something to stop that from happening.

He gets three fingers inside her and her tightness could choke him. He wants to let it. They pick up speed.

Between speaking he kisses every part of her neck and face (except the part he really wants) rapidly and matching the rhythm of the fingers pumping into her.

His thumb rubs circles into her overstimulated clit and she jerks around, crying out almost continuously. Her toes are curling and she is really begging, crying out his name between gasps and he has her so close. Bellamy wants so badly to just bury himself into her heat and take her the way she wants. Words of this nature fall from his lips and vibrate against her collarbone. He bites down hard and she screams, hips bucking frantically against his hand as she comes. His fingers fuck her right through it, squeezed tightly by her cunt and he comes in his pants at the thought of being there.

Afterwards she thanks him.

\-- 

Bellamy didn’t get fucked but he is so, thoroughly  _fucked_.

\--

It’s two days later that he goes to _her_ door. He knocks late, firmly because he has to. He kisses her long and hard, hands gently at her cheeks, so she knows that when he says he loves her he means it.

She backs him up to the wall and grinds against him once while keeping eye contact so that when she says _she_ wants to fuck him, nor driven by drugs, he knows she means it.


End file.
